


Sick Day

by wingedScribe



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Sick!Aziraphale, dorks being dorks, this is nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedScribe/pseuds/wingedScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In response to a prompt from redmasque: Crowley and Aziraphale, kiss on the nose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redmasque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redmasque/gifts).



The one thing worse than having to deal with stubborn angels, Crowley thought to himself, was having to deal with stubborn angels who’d overtaxed themselves and now were sick, of all things. He glared at the kettle of tea on Aziraphale’s burner, and the water inside obligingly started to boil. 

Of course, he could have simply created some tea, but Aziraphale insisted that it didn’t taste right that way, and so here Crowley was, trying to make tea for an angel. Irritated, he shoved his sunglasses higher on his face and scowled, pouring the tea into a cup and guessing at which of the various boxes of tea (who needed this much tea? Right, Aziraphale, obviously) Aziraphale wanted. 

English Breakfast would work, he decided, dropping the teabag into the hot water and glaring at it until it started steeping. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as good with that as he was with heating things up. A single chastising look from Aziraphale could get a pot of tea steeped to perfection in seconds. Perhaps the water was just ashamed of disappointing the angel. 

Crowley looked at the tea again and deemed that to be steeped enough, and if it wasn’t, Aziraphale could deal with it. Crowley was here, practically waiting hand on foot on the angel, and Aziraphale should be grateful for any tea at all. 

When he returned to the living room, Aziraphale was curled up on a chair in a nest of blankets, reading a book by the light of one of his lamps. Crowley wasn’t familiar with what book it was, but then he usually wasn’t. Hogfather, the title read, which was a ridiculous title for a book. 

Crowley didn’t say that, of course, because last time he’d insulted a book title around Aziraphale he’d ended up sitting through a three-day lecture on why judging books by their titles was wrong and why that particular book was a treasure and a masterpiece and living through that once was enough. 

Aziraphale looked up, blinking at Crowley and smiling one of the smiles that made Crowley look away awkwardly in an attempt to stop himself from flushing. He was a milennia-old demon, for someone’s sake. This was ridiculous. 

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale said, taking the tea, and Crowley’s battle against inappropriate facial flushing became a few thousand times harder. He waved his hand irritably to dismiss the compliment and decided to take a seat on the chair’s footstool instead. 

“This is ridiculous,” He said after a moment, feeling the need to fill the silence. “How long are you going to be invalid? I think my houseplants are going to get ideas, what with me being unable to properly oversee them from here.” 

“Good,” Aziraphale replied, rather unashamedly. “Those poor plants need a vacation, Crowley. And I didn’t ask you to come over here.” 

That was true. 

“Well, I couldn’t exactly leave you here to get so weak you’d be recalled, could I?” Crowley defended himself. “The next one they sent would probably be even worse than you are, and I rather like the arrangement we have going now. I’m looking out for myself, here.” 

“Of course you are,” Aziraphale said, in the tone that let Crowley know that Aziraphale knew he was bullshitting. Before Crowley could reply, though, Aziraphale leaned closer, kissing Crowley just on the tip of the nose and pulling off his shades. 

“I would properly kiss you, but I’m afraid you’d get sick as well,” Aziraphale explained, and Crowley really wasn’t sure how to respond to that. 

He settled on the deeply unsatisfactory “I don’t think I can get sick.” 

“Well, neither did I, and here I am,” Aziraphale gestured with the hand not holding tea to the nest of blankets he was ensconced in. “I do appreciate this, though, Crowley. I hope you know that.” 

Crowley did, and to be honest, he didn’t mind half as much as he was pretending he did. 

“Oh shut up, angel,” He said instead, swiping his shades back from Aziraphale.


End file.
